


Rest my bloody bones.

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Non-Sexual Bathing, Tenderness, Unresolved Romantic Tension, its minorish?, where he's ouchie hurt and gets comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 17:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19089502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: Viren is injured in a skirmish, and Harrow tends to his wound.





	Rest my bloody bones.

**Author's Note:**

> bathing won the twitter poll, although this is a bit less fluffy then likely imagined. feel free to join the twitter fun for a minor say in whatever sort stuff i might write, i run polls a lot.

 

[my twitter](https://twitter.com/goblinwrites)

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“If you keep wincing, this will never be clean.” Opeli said sharply, tugging Viren’s arm back over the basin.

 He made a face of apology, hissing as she lifted the cloth and dabbed carefully at the edges of the jagged cut running the length of his forearm. He had been caught by the tip of an elvan spear in the middle of the fray; the wound was awkward, twisting along the outside of his arm where the weapon had skirted his armour, and sunk into the soft flesh at the edge of it.

Opeli cast him an impatient look, readjusting his arm in her grip. But for all her bluster, her touch was soft, careful. It was easy, given their animosity, to forget that they were not enemies.

Someone reached between them, lifting the cloth from Opeli’s grasp. Harrow smiled wanly at them both, and tilted his head back where he had come.

“Let me. I cannot help in the field hospital, but I can handle the injuries of one friend.”

She looked like she might object, but after a moment Opeli lifted the basin in her lap, and stood to offer the King her seat. Harrow took it, and accepted the wooden bowl, settling it between his knees before reaching out for Viren’s arm.

“There is bandages in the chest beside you. Sire, Lord Viren,” Opeli excused herself with a shallow nod, hands folded in front of her, and her brows resting high up  near her hairline. She had the mercy to reframe from saying whatever she was thinking, at the very least. Viren flushed delicately at the look none the less, clearing his throat as he held his arm stiffly toward Harrow.

“They got you good. I’ve told you to wear armour.” Harrow chided, as he leaned over the injury, inspecting it. Water dripped down the inside of his wrist. The rolled fabric of his sleeve, bunched up at his elbow, was damp with water- or his blood, honestly he wasn’t certain. Harrow’s touch was as careful as Opeli’s had been, his calloused fingers turning Viren’s wrist delicately until the long cute faced Harrow. He hissed in sympathy.

“I was,” said Viren softly, almost under his breath, eyes on the pounded dirt floor of the field tent.

“What was that?”

He flushed, and bounced his knee, curling his good hand on top of it.

“I was wearing armour. I had bracers on.”

Viren wasn’t looking at Harrow, but the silence stretched uncomfortably- _perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything_. It wasn’t that he was saying the armour was a bad idea, only that he _had_  listened to Harrow-

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Although, I guess you might have lost this hand without them, this is a very harsh cut.”

The water was warm, thanks to a simple spell, but it stung the wound where it touched it; Viren flinched at the contact, and Harrow held his hand firm, not letting him yank it away. The worst of it past after a moment, and he felt foolish.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Harrow ran his thumb over the back of Viren’s hand, smudging away the drops of watery blood. “You have no need to feel sorry. You’re allowed to feel, Viren. It’s alright.”

His breath caught in his throat. Hesitantly, he looked up from the floor to meet his King’s eyes. There was a tightness around the edges of them, crows feet that hadn’t been there a year ago; they didn’t disappear when he smiled at Viren, flashing a hint of the laugh lines he would wear with age.

Viren cleared his throat, looking away quickly.

“I think this is clean.” He said, moving to gather the bandages from beside Harrow.

Harrow stalled him, resting a hand on his shoulder, and squeezing his captive hand softly. Viren made the mistake of looking up, and meeting his earnest emerald gaze.

Harrow’s expression was so open, yet incomprehensible. Or rather- he couldn’t be reading him right. His friend- his King- _Harrow_ stroked his hand slowly, smiling at him with warmth in his eyes.

“Sit, let me do it. Let me take care of you.” Said Harrow softly, into the stillness between them. Viren’s hearth lurched in his chest, but he took his seat once more. As the careful touches continued, he pushed any thought of what this might mean from his mind.

They were at war. He... he was a servant.


End file.
